fic post:SpN Lately
5/2/07 01:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyfic post:SpN
Title:Lately
Fandom:SpN
Pairing:hmm..it’s slash…Roxy’s a perv…the show features a pair of brothers….let me think….
Rating:2 (and in case you’re wondering, the rating system is on my profile page)
Summary: This is![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mkitty_03's PWP, 'cause I lub her.
A/N: any glaring mistakes of logic and sense are mine, God knowsmecurtin is doing her best to save me. Thanks so much!
parts 1-5
Something is going on. Sam’s been weird—weirder—lately. It’s like he’s alternating between excited and…and guilty. Maybe…maybe he’s in love with. Someone.
And that would be okay. Sam shouldn’t feel guilty, not at all. *yes he should* It would be right, good.
It would be a damn relief. He’s certain he can handle it…better than he has so far.
*shit*.
******
It’s Family Night. The Winchester version anyway.
The diner is small, and kind of dark. Its cleanliness is suspect but it’s cheap and the plates are piled high with food, and more importantly, the food’s damn good.
He’s working his way through a mountain of buttery fries, bites a finger by accident ‘cause Sam’s staring at him. Staring so hard that he begins to sweat, just a little tickle between his shoulder blades but still….
The spot Sam’s staring at –the base of his throat--itches. Burns.
Sam’s licking ketchup off his fingers; and for one weird moment, he can feel Sam’s tongue, hot and wet right there, in the hollow of his throat.
There are spots of bright red ketchup in the corners of Sam’s mouth. Dad is talking about—oh God, something…he’s trying to listen, he really is trying fuckin’ hard to pay attention to whatever the hell it is Dad’s saying...but Sam’s tongue is worming its way in the creases of his lip, searching for ketchup--licking and—licking. *FUCK.*
*BITCH!*
He reaches under the table and adjusts himself. Sam’s looking at him, and he smiles— a nice smile. A sweet kind of ‘I’m happy, aren’t you happy?’ smile. “It’s a nice night, hunh? Weather’s nice,” Sam says.
Dad says, “Yeah, it’s pretty nice. Good sleeping weather.”
And Sam smiles at him and says, “Yeah, good sleeping…” only it’s more like a—like he *breathes* it instead of saying it.
Dad smiles and chews his burger, and Sam says, “We should sleep outside tonight, Dean,” smiles again and that tickle of sweat between his shoulder blades grows…his t-shirt is sticking to his back….
“Yeah, maybe…” and his voice is a stranger’s, dry and faint.
Sam drops ketchup on his t-shirt. Frowns, and tries to lift it off with the side of his finger—sucks the smear of red from it, his tongue chases it right down to the web between his fingers.
He swears he plays with it for a moment. Swears Sam’s eyes flutter shut for a moment.
He can feel his cock jump. Is he…does he really not get what it’s doing to him?
He feels his eyes fill and wants to bite his own hand. Bitch. Crybaby. Pussy.
Sam smiles again, a gentle curve that sweeps the ends of his mouth into a bow, and slants his eyes. They glitter like a cat’s but his expression is sweet. No…kind. Kind.
Dad gets up to get something from the car—he says. Sam maybe buys it but he knows damn well Dad’s out there to cop a smoke.
He waits until Dad’s cleared the diner doors before turning to Sam and hissing, “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Just--stop it Sam!”
“I don’t know what you’re doing, Dean, but I’m eating. Eat *your* food and shut up, will you?”
“You--You’re not doing it on purpose?” He’s feeling a little stupid now—kind of like a pervert. A blind perv.
Sam snorts. “What do you think is happening here, Dean?”
“I don’t know…” He looks out the window, sees a little orange flame flare in the car, sees his own face in the glass—Sam’s—sees Sam staring again.
Feels his foot. Feels that foot encased in a ratty Converse nudge his ankle--careful, barely a real touch—*Fuck!*
“What?”
“Gotta go—be right back.”
God! He jumps up and dashes to the bathroom. Closes the door carefully behind him, locks it—that’s important, the locking part. He opens his pants, bites his lip. Pulls down his boxers, and takes his cock in hand.
Comes without a sound, tosses the gummy tissues into the bowl and flushes. Calmly. Waits until the flush leaves his face and he’s breathing normally again.
Bastard.
Dad’s back at the table, smelling faintly of smoke and beer, directs a little shamefaced grin at him.
What can he do? He grins back at Dad. Secrets Dad, we all have them…God, do we ever.
Sam smiles up at him, cat-eyed and angelic at once. “You okay?” And sucks at the straw standing up in his coke, the pointed tip of his tongue searching for the hole in the end of the straw….
“Yes! I mean…yes.”
*deep breath* "Yes.”
Dad looks at him with some surprise, and Sam looks at him like…like the Earth just opened up and puked out a million dollars and Pamela Anderson. Tom Cruise. Whatever.
Dad shrugs. He’s given up trying to understand the bizarro language he claims they have.
He’s not totally sure what he’s agreed to. He’s scared shitless. What happens next?
Is he supposed to do something, or just lay back and think of puppies and ice-cream? What does Sam want? What does he *want*? Him. Sam wants him.
And God, he wants Sam. Sam’s hand on him, Sam’s mouth on him—he’s wanted it forever, so much sometimes it made him sick. It made him cry, it made him almost hurt himself jerking off. Coming, driving fingers into his eyes when he did. And God, don’t ever fucking enjoy it. Because that would make him a perv.
Okay, the truth? He wants to be—fucked raw, broken, ripped to pieces; he wants Sam to just be there forever.
If Sam doesn’t want that, what’s left in the world?
How does he live?
******
When?
Now that Sam’s got him locked up and panting for it, he’s…it’s…slow. Suddenly all that desperation, that anger, raw want he used to see in Sam’s eyes--it’s all gone. Now it’s all about sweet *bland* looks, and little drifting touches. Smiles, all sweet and puppy faced, so…fucking innocent. It makes him think maybe he’s a little…maybe he wanted too much?
It’s…horrible. Like torture. It’s cruel, and it hurts but Sam doesn’t seem to get it. He just keeps saying, “Wait ‘til Dad’s gone, wait…”
Wait is making him NUTS. God—Sam must be made of iron or something.
Sammy’s making him crazy—*crazier*. ‘Wait’ is going to fucking *kill* him.
So, waiting, and waiting. When Dad finally tells him he’s taking off for a few weeks, he has to bite his lip hard to keep from *screaming*
“Be gone for a while. You boys take care of each other, hear?” Dad gives him the manly pat-rub-slap on his shoulder. He gets this brief flash of wanting to salute but has enough damn sense not to—bad enough that he’s grinning like an idiot. “Be careful Dad—have a good time.” *FUCK* “I mean—you know what I mean.”
*FUCK* “Um. Yeah.”
Dad gives him an odd look before he leaves.
From the edge of the driveway, he watches the truck leave. Looks back to the house and Sam’s watching too…the taillights flash red and they’re gone and God, he wants Dad to come back right now.
See? Crazy.
(more crazy soon--and possibly sex. Pray for me. To write it, not to have it. Though come to think of it....*koff*) TBC.
Title:Lately
Fandom:SpN
Pairing:hmm..it’s slash…Roxy’s a perv…the show features a pair of brothers….let me think….
Rating:2 (and in case you’re wondering, the rating system is on my profile page)
Summary: This is
mkitty_03's PWP, 'cause I lub her.A/N: any glaring mistakes of logic and sense are mine, God knows
mecurtin is doing her best to save me. Thanks so much! parts 1-5
Something is going on. Sam’s been weird—weirder—lately. It’s like he’s alternating between excited and…and guilty. Maybe…maybe he’s in love with. Someone.
And that would be okay. Sam shouldn’t feel guilty, not at all. *yes he should* It would be right, good.
It would be a damn relief. He’s certain he can handle it…better than he has so far.
*shit*.
******
It’s Family Night. The Winchester version anyway.
The diner is small, and kind of dark. Its cleanliness is suspect but it’s cheap and the plates are piled high with food, and more importantly, the food’s damn good.
He’s working his way through a mountain of buttery fries, bites a finger by accident ‘cause Sam’s staring at him. Staring so hard that he begins to sweat, just a little tickle between his shoulder blades but still….
The spot Sam’s staring at –the base of his throat--itches. Burns.
Sam’s licking ketchup off his fingers; and for one weird moment, he can feel Sam’s tongue, hot and wet right there, in the hollow of his throat.
There are spots of bright red ketchup in the corners of Sam’s mouth. Dad is talking about—oh God, something…he’s trying to listen, he really is trying fuckin’ hard to pay attention to whatever the hell it is Dad’s saying...but Sam’s tongue is worming its way in the creases of his lip, searching for ketchup--licking and—licking. *FUCK.*
*BITCH!*
He reaches under the table and adjusts himself. Sam’s looking at him, and he smiles— a nice smile. A sweet kind of ‘I’m happy, aren’t you happy?’ smile. “It’s a nice night, hunh? Weather’s nice,” Sam says.
Dad says, “Yeah, it’s pretty nice. Good sleeping weather.”
And Sam smiles at him and says, “Yeah, good sleeping…” only it’s more like a—like he *breathes* it instead of saying it.
Dad smiles and chews his burger, and Sam says, “We should sleep outside tonight, Dean,” smiles again and that tickle of sweat between his shoulder blades grows…his t-shirt is sticking to his back….
“Yeah, maybe…” and his voice is a stranger’s, dry and faint.
Sam drops ketchup on his t-shirt. Frowns, and tries to lift it off with the side of his finger—sucks the smear of red from it, his tongue chases it right down to the web between his fingers.
He swears he plays with it for a moment. Swears Sam’s eyes flutter shut for a moment.
He can feel his cock jump. Is he…does he really not get what it’s doing to him?
He feels his eyes fill and wants to bite his own hand. Bitch. Crybaby. Pussy.
Sam smiles again, a gentle curve that sweeps the ends of his mouth into a bow, and slants his eyes. They glitter like a cat’s but his expression is sweet. No…kind. Kind.
Dad gets up to get something from the car—he says. Sam maybe buys it but he knows damn well Dad’s out there to cop a smoke.
He waits until Dad’s cleared the diner doors before turning to Sam and hissing, “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Just--stop it Sam!”
“I don’t know what you’re doing, Dean, but I’m eating. Eat *your* food and shut up, will you?”
“You--You’re not doing it on purpose?” He’s feeling a little stupid now—kind of like a pervert. A blind perv.
Sam snorts. “What do you think is happening here, Dean?”
“I don’t know…” He looks out the window, sees a little orange flame flare in the car, sees his own face in the glass—Sam’s—sees Sam staring again.
Feels his foot. Feels that foot encased in a ratty Converse nudge his ankle--careful, barely a real touch—*Fuck!*
“What?”
“Gotta go—be right back.”
God! He jumps up and dashes to the bathroom. Closes the door carefully behind him, locks it—that’s important, the locking part. He opens his pants, bites his lip. Pulls down his boxers, and takes his cock in hand.
Comes without a sound, tosses the gummy tissues into the bowl and flushes. Calmly. Waits until the flush leaves his face and he’s breathing normally again.
Bastard.
Dad’s back at the table, smelling faintly of smoke and beer, directs a little shamefaced grin at him.
What can he do? He grins back at Dad. Secrets Dad, we all have them…God, do we ever.
Sam smiles up at him, cat-eyed and angelic at once. “You okay?” And sucks at the straw standing up in his coke, the pointed tip of his tongue searching for the hole in the end of the straw….
“Yes! I mean…yes.”
*deep breath* "Yes.”
Dad looks at him with some surprise, and Sam looks at him like…like the Earth just opened up and puked out a million dollars and Pamela Anderson. Tom Cruise. Whatever.
Dad shrugs. He’s given up trying to understand the bizarro language he claims they have.
He’s not totally sure what he’s agreed to. He’s scared shitless. What happens next?
Is he supposed to do something, or just lay back and think of puppies and ice-cream? What does Sam want? What does he *want*? Him. Sam wants him.
And God, he wants Sam. Sam’s hand on him, Sam’s mouth on him—he’s wanted it forever, so much sometimes it made him sick. It made him cry, it made him almost hurt himself jerking off. Coming, driving fingers into his eyes when he did. And God, don’t ever fucking enjoy it. Because that would make him a perv.
Okay, the truth? He wants to be—fucked raw, broken, ripped to pieces; he wants Sam to just be there forever.
If Sam doesn’t want that, what’s left in the world?
How does he live?
******
When?
Now that Sam’s got him locked up and panting for it, he’s…it’s…slow. Suddenly all that desperation, that anger, raw want he used to see in Sam’s eyes--it’s all gone. Now it’s all about sweet *bland* looks, and little drifting touches. Smiles, all sweet and puppy faced, so…fucking innocent. It makes him think maybe he’s a little…maybe he wanted too much?
It’s…horrible. Like torture. It’s cruel, and it hurts but Sam doesn’t seem to get it. He just keeps saying, “Wait ‘til Dad’s gone, wait…”
Wait is making him NUTS. God—Sam must be made of iron or something.
Sammy’s making him crazy—*crazier*. ‘Wait’ is going to fucking *kill* him.
So, waiting, and waiting. When Dad finally tells him he’s taking off for a few weeks, he has to bite his lip hard to keep from *screaming*
“Be gone for a while. You boys take care of each other, hear?” Dad gives him the manly pat-rub-slap on his shoulder. He gets this brief flash of wanting to salute but has enough damn sense not to—bad enough that he’s grinning like an idiot. “Be careful Dad—have a good time.” *FUCK* “I mean—you know what I mean.”
*FUCK* “Um. Yeah.”
Dad gives him an odd look before he leaves.
From the edge of the driveway, he watches the truck leave. Looks back to the house and Sam’s watching too…the taillights flash red and they’re gone and God, he wants Dad to come back right now.
See? Crazy.
(more crazy soon--and possibly sex. Pray for me. To write it, not to have it. Though come to think of it....*koff*) TBC.
Tags:
(no subject)
5/2/07 02:24 pm (UTC)Eeeeevol Sammy. I like.
*la*
(no subject)
5/2/07 02:56 pm (UTC)Evol?
Tchah! what evol? *whistles*